


Winter Wonderland

by greenapricot



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Fingerfucking, M/M, Only One Bed, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romantic Cliches, but they never make it to the bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21989407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenapricot/pseuds/greenapricot
Summary: The radio has been going on about the unprecedented snowfall for the past two very slow hours of driving; two hours which would have been one without the snow. Astounding snowfall rates, the announcer keeps saying. What’s astounding is that they’ve made it here at all with how bad the roads are. What’s astounding is that Robbie has invited James on holiday. Not Laura, or Lyn, or anyone else, but James who he ought to have had enough of all day every day at work.
Relationships: James Hathaway/Robert Lewis
Comments: 20
Kudos: 166





	Winter Wonderland

**Author's Note:**

> This is my winter holiday gift to the Lewis fandom. It's been a little over four years since I posted my first Lewis fic (the end of an unintentional many-year writing hiatus) and it's been the loveliest four years with the loveliest people. So, thank you all for being so lovely. 
> 
> Thanks especially to Vita_S_West, my fellow northern-climate dweller, who essentially plotted this out with me one snowy Sunday night in discord chat, and to the squad for being The Best. 
> 
> Takes place between s4 and s5.

Going on a mini-break to Scotland with his best friend who also happens to be his boss isn’t that odd. They both worked over Christmas, it makes sense for them to have a bit of a holiday together now that they’ve got leave and everyone else is back at work. Besides, being hours away from Oxford is the perfect excuse to avoid the station New Year’s party. 

That’s what James has been telling himself since Robbie invited him, anyway. It is a bit strange calling him Robbie; good strange, but strange all the same. But Robbie had been very insistent—after James’ “Good morning, sir,” when he got in the car—that there would be no ‘siring’ while on holiday or he’d turn the car around. 

The radio has been going on about the unprecedented snowfall for the past two very slow hours of driving; two hours which would have been one without the snow. Astounding snowfall rates, the announcer keeps saying. What’s astounding is that they’ve made it here at all with how bad the roads are. What’s astounding is that Robbie has invited James on holiday. Not Laura, or Lyn, or anyone else, but James who he ought to have had enough of all day every day at work. 

Robbie pulls the car off the main road, which is little more than a lane, and a few yards into the drive that leads to the cottage before the tyres lose traction, spinning in the deep snow. 

“Well, here were are, then,” Robbie says, turning off the engine and looking rather chuffed for someone who’s just got their car stuck in the snow. He seems to have enjoyed the past two hours of driving on almost impassable snow-covered roads as well. James is just glad he didn’t have to do any of the driving.

Outside the car, the world is eerily silent and unaccountably beautiful. Falling snow dampens the sound of their footsteps and the shutting of the car doors. The landscape is blanketed in white in all directions like they’re standing in the middle of a black and white photograph. The cottage sits on a slight hill, tucked between much larger hills, the mountains beyond obscured by falling snow. Next to the cottage, the few trees look like they’ve been edged with icing, each branch coated in a thick layer of snow. Nestled into the valley as they are, there is no other sign of human habitation. It’s just the two of them in a proper winter wonderland. 

James gets snow all down his boots on the trudge up the hill through pristine unshovelled snow; already over a foot deep and showing no signs of letting up. Robbie brushes snow off the lockbox hanging on the wall by the door, enters a code, pulls out the key, and opens the front door. The cottage, which looked quite small from outside, actually seems smaller on the inside. The ceiling is low, the battered dark wood beams only just high enough for James not to bash his head as he stamps snow off his boots and takes off his coat. 

In the main room is a loveseat, a small side table, a tiny dining table and two wooden chairs, and a glass-fronted woodstove set into the wide stone fireplace with a ridiculous sheepskin rug in front of it. And there’s tartan. A lot of tartan; the curtains, the throw pillows, the blanket draped over the loveseat. James would put money on there being tartan sheets and towels as well.

“Sheepskin and tartan.” James shakes his head. 

Robbie grins. “I got a deal.”

They drop their holdalls by the loveseat and James peers into the bedroom. It’s barely big enough to fit a double bed and there are, indeed, tartan sheets as well as tartan pillows and duvet cover, and more tartan curtains. Taken all together, the wood beams and the deep reds of the tartan, the candles scattered around in little nooks, and the fairy lights strung artfully in the corners and along the ceiling beams, the whole thing is very romantic Scottish cottage getaway. 

“How carefully did you read the listing before you booked this place?” James asks when he comes back into the main room. 

“Carefully enough.” Robbie sounds a bit affronted. He’s taken off his anorak for the first time since he picked James up early this morning, and is wearing a jumper in a rich blue that sets off his eyes. It must be a gift from Lyn or Laura; it’s a nicer quality and fit to what he usually wears. 

“There’s a twin air mattress we can set up,” Robbie says. “Should be in the cupboard in the kitchen.” 

James has to duck to get into the tiny kitchen and bumps his head on the ceiling when he tries to stand up again. There’s a tartan tea towel hanging from a hook by the kitchen sink and more tartan curtains. The cupboard is locked with a combination lock. 

“What’s the code for the lockbox?” James asks.

“One-four-eight-two,” comes Robbie’s reply. It doesn’t work.

“You’re sure?”

“Aye,” Robbie says, rounding the kitchen door. He has to press right up behind James in the small space between the counter and the wall to see the lock. 

James tries the code again. “Still nothing.”

Robbie hmphs behind him, then reaches around James to jiggle the lock, his arm brushing James’ side, his chest against his back. The lock doesn’t budge and Robbie doesn’t move away.

“There must be another code.” James is starting to feel warm with Robbie pressed to his back. It’s not particularly warm in the cottage but he is wearing his warmest jumper. James tries to step away but there’s nowhere to go with Robbie standing so close. “Can you—?”

“Oh, sorry.” Robbie finally moves aside, but not enough that James can get past him without brushing his arse against Robbie’s front. Robbie doesn’t seem to notice. “I’ll message the host,” he says, pulling out his phone.

“You need help with that?” 

“I booked this place on my own, didn’t I?” Robbie grumbles, typing on his phone. A moment later he says, “Check that the fridge is stocked, will you.”

James turns in place and opens the fridge.

“It is,” James replies. The fridge is stuffed with what looks like enough food to last at least a week, which they may need if the snow doesn’t let up. Along with the copious food, there are two bottles of chilled champagne. James pulls one out, holding it up to Robbie who taps at his phone a few more times with finality, then looks up at him. 

James waggles the bottle at him. “I think our host may have some misconceptions about your reasons for renting the cottage.”

“Possibly,” Robbie says. He doesn’t look terrible put out by it. “Might as well open that since it’s here. I’ll get the fire going.”

The cottage may be lacking access to the promised extra bed, but it seems to be stocked with everything else they could need, including crystal champagne flutes and an ice bucket for the bottle. James pours two glasses and brings the lot out to the main room, setting the glasses and ice bucket down on the side table. 

It may be growing dark outside already, but it will be many hours before the lack of a second bed is going to be an issue. The host will reply to Robbie before then. James sits down on the loveseat, takes a few sips of champagne, and tries to relax. 

The loveseat is angled toward the fireplace where Robbie is crouched in front of the woodstove, breaking up rather large pieces of kindling with his bare hands. He’s removed his jumper and rolled up his shirtsleeves and James can’t help but notice the flex of his forearms as he snaps another piece of kindling in half. James takes a large sip of champagne. 

It’s not that he hasn’t seen Robbie with his sleeves rolled up before, not that he doesn’t find his eyes drawn to those forearms when Robbie sheds his jacket and rolls up his sleeves while they’re doing paperwork in the office. It’s not like he hasn’t noticed. He’s spent a fair number of work hours trying very hard not to notice, in fact. But right now there’s nothing else to notice. 

“Make sure the flue’s wide open before you light it,” James says, more to distract himself from the proceedings than because he has any doubt that Robbie knows what he’s doing. 

“I know full well how to work a woodstove,” Robbie grumbles. The low, almost-growl of mock-indignation doesn’t stir anything in James that the champagne hasn’t already. Neither does the laugh James can hear lurking underneath. He ought to go grab some of the local cheeses from the fridge; they didn’t eat a proper lunch on the way up, only a snack when they stopped for petrol. He’s hungry is all.

“Of course you do,” James says in his best sarky drawl, sure that Robbie can hear the sir that isn’t there. He downs the rest of his champagne and pours himself another glass. He needs a cigarette. 

He’d planned to smoke less during this trip, possibly give up smoking for good for the new year, but these are extenuating circumstances. He was not prepared for Robbie flashing forearms and fire building skills around like it was nothing. Like the display before him doesn’t leave James’ mouth dry and hands twitching toward strong shoulders as Robbie balls up newspaper, deftly crumpling each page with the fingers of one hand, before placing it in the open door of the stove and arranging the kindling on top.

James fidgets with his glass, running his finger around the edge of the crystal until it sings. Robbie strikes a match and holds it to the paper, small flames blossom, crackling as the fire licks at the kindling. Robbie’s face is bathed in the warm glow of new flames when he turns to reach for a log from the rack at the edge of the hearth. It’s no use even trying to avert his eyes from the way Robbie’s jeans—a slimmer cut to what he usually wears—pull tight over his arse when he stretches to reach a log. 

When Robbie picks up the largest log in the rack with one hand, James almost upends his champagne on himself. Robbie places the log in the stove and shuts the glass door, opens the flue, and the fire roars to life. James runs his hand through his hair and takes another sip of champagne.

It’s hot in here. Why do they even need a fire when it’s this hot?

“I know you want to,” Robbie says, jostling the handle to check that the stove door is shut tight. He turns toward James and picks up the other champagne flute. “I can hear you fidgeting over there.” James finds himself staring at Robbie’s throat and the open collar of his shirt as he takes a rather large sip. “Go on, then.” 

“I— You—” James forces himself to take a slow, deep breath. Robbie means go have a cigarette. James clenches his free hand into a fist, puts his glass down and stands. “Yeah,” he says. His voice comes out higher than normal.

“You all right, lad?” 

“Fine, yeah. Of course. Never better.” James flees out the door without grabbing his coat. His coat which contains his cigarettes and lighter.

It’s snowing quite a bit harder than when they arrived; snow flakes swirl around him, sticking to his jumper, melting on his face. James closes his eyes and turns his face up to the sky, letting the cold of the snow calm him as it lands on his cheeks and nose and eyelids, until a gust of wind drives the snow sideways, stinging at his neck. He opens his eyes and steps closer to the side of the cottage, out of the wind. 

This is what he needs to pull himself together, a bit of time out in the cold. They’ve got three and a half more days here. James had been worried about the bed situation, he’d never even considered that the woodstove might be an issue. Champagne on an empty stomach is all it is. He’ll stay out here for another few minutes, then make them something for dinner. James shakes his head at the absurdity of it all. Leave it to Robbie Lewis to get a deal on a romantic cottage getaway rental and platonically bring his sergeant along. 

James takes a deep breath, looks out across the valley, and tries to focus on the view. The snow is coming down so fast he can’t quite make out the car down the end of the drive; it’s nothing but a white lump in the blue twilight, beginning to merge with the white lumps of the stonewalls that edge the lane. The evidence of their walk from the car is mostly obscured by blowing snow, and the snow icing on the trees is even thicker now, bending the smaller branches, turning the trees into ghostly shapes in the twilight. It really is beautiful.

Behind him, the door opens, swirling snow up off the step and into the air. Robbie steps out and hands James his coat.

“Thanks.” James shrugs his coat on. He expects Robbie to go right back inside, but instead he pulls his anorak tight around himself, shuts the door behind him, and tilts his head up toward the sky. Snow wafts down around them, the landscape both still and in constant motion. The wind swirls snow around the side of the cottage in a tiny tornado, then skitters off down the hill. Robbie stuffs his hands in his pockets and steps into the shelter of the roof overhang, closer to James.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Robbie says, but he’s not looking at the view, he’s looking at James. 

“Yeah,” James agrees, looking away. He intends to wait for Robbie to go back in, spare him the second-hand smoke, but he can feel Robbie’s eyes on him as he watches snow swirl off the roof. They’re standing so close their shoulders brush. Nothing unusual there, but the look on Robbie’s face when he said ‘beautiful’… Almost like he wasn’t talking about the view at all. 

James reaches for his cigarettes to keep from reaching for Robbie, fumbling the pack out of his pocket with cold fingers, and lights up. Smoke mingles with the falling snow as James exhales. He feels calmer until he looks over at Robbie again. Robbie is still watching him, his eyes following James’ hand as he brings the cigarette to his mouth and takes a long drag. 

Then Robbie steps forward and plucks the cigarette from James’ mouth, the tip of his finger brushing James’ lower lip. He doesn’t break eye contact as he lifts the cigarette to his lips. The tip glows red in the twilight and James realises that the deepening blue around them is the same colour as Robbie’s jumper, as Robbie’s eyes, and… _Shit_. 

“You don’t smoke,” James chokes out, because that is the most pressing issue right now, not the heat in Robbie’s eyes or the way his gaze keeps straying to James’ lips.

“Not for a long time.” Robbie exhales and holds the cigarette out to James. “Do you have any idea how hard it is not to pick it up again when I spend so much time with you?”

“I—” James takes the cigarette, takes a drag to steady the fluttering in his chest.

“Didn’t think so.”

“Sorry,” James says. He gazes out across the snow-covered valley, avoiding Robbie’s eyes. Tries not to think about the fact that moments ago Robbie’s lips were on the cigarette where his lips are now. 

“James,” Robbie says. 

James turns and Robbie is right there, closer than before; mere inches between them. Snow falls silently all around. He holds his breath and finally meets Robbie’s eyes. Robbie gives him the smallest of nods, as if he’s waiting for James to put the pieces together yet leaving room for plausible deniability. 

Is this a romantic cottage getaway? James moves closer until he can feel Robbie’s breath ghosting over his lips. Robbie doesn’t move away, his hand comes up to cup James’ cheek and it’s like a circuit has been completed, James drops the cigarette in the snow and surges forward, taking Robbie’s face in his hands and pressing their lips together.

Robbie’s cheeks are cold but his lips are warm. He tastes like cigarettes and champagne, which should be disgusting but is very, very much not. Robbie’s hand is in his hair and James is pressing forward, pushing Robbie up against the side of the cottage, pressing his whole body to Robbie’s. Kissing along his jaw and down his neck, before capturing his mouth again. Robbie pulls him in, deepening the kiss, nipping at James’ lower lip, then soothing it with his tongue and _fuck_. Even through the layers of coats, he can feel that Robbie is as hard as he is. 

James drops to his knees right there on the doorstep with snow swirling around them. Snow melts into his jeans almost immediately, falls into his coat collar and down his neck as he pushes Robbie’s anorak aside and presses his mouth to the very obvious bulge in his jeans. 

“Christ, James,” Robbie gasps from above him. 

Robbie’s cock twitches with each hot breath he puffs through the fabric. James runs his hand up the back of Robbie’s thighs, then over his arse to his belt, trailing his fingers forward along the leather until he reaches the buckle and begins to unfasten it. 

“James,” Robbie gasps again, as he slides the leather through the buckle. “I didn’t make a fire so we could do this out here.”

“You—?” James looks up. Robbie is smiling down at him with the most cat-that-got-the-cream grin he’s ever seen. “You did plan this.”

“Aye, lad.” Robbie pulls James to his feet, kissing him again and just about manhandles him through the door. He kicks it shut and pushes James up against it, kissing him with renewed fervour. Soundly, thoroughly; James’ insides going molten. He traces James’ lower lip with his tongue, pushing James’ coat off his shoulders, his weight holding James to the wall, and James is tugging Robbie’s shirt out of his jeans, fumbling at the button and zip without breaking the kiss. 

James half wants Robbie to pick him up and carry him to the bed. Ravish him. No, he fully wants that. Robbie shrugs off his anorak, dropping it to the floor, takes off James’ boots and socks, then his own, and pulls James toward the warmth of the woodstove. He gets to his knees on the sheepskin rug, bathed again in the orange glow of the flames through the glass, and tugs James down next to him. Robbie pauses a moment, looking up at James, his fingers curling under James’ jumper, brushing his bare skin. 

“Yes,” James breathes, and Robbie pulls James’ jumper and t-shirt up over his head all in one go. 

“Look at you,” Robbie says, with such heat James’ cock twitches within the confines of his jeans. James has looked and he hasn’t seen anything that would warrant the way Robbie is looking at him. Like he’s beautiful, like he wants to devour him, like he’s been waiting for this as long as James has. 

And, _oh God_ , Robbie is laying him down on a sheepskin rug in front of a roaring fire and he is so fucking, embarrassingly into it he might come before Robbie even touches him. Robbie unbuttons James’ jeans, easing them down, then his pants, his cock hard and leaking against his stomach and _fuck_. Did Robbie just lick his lips? 

Robbie runs his fingers along James’ sides, sending delicious shivers up his spine. He is naked and Robbie is still almost fully clothed and _fuck_ that’s hot. They’re going to have to explore that later— _please, let there be a later_ —but now, now James wants to feel Robbie’s skin on his.

“Get—“ James reaches up, tugging at Robbie’s shirt. “Off,” he mutters. 

Robbie smirks. “That was the plan.”

James sits up, kissing him again. Robbie’s hands sliding over his back are a revelation, moving warm across his skin, and so distracting he can barely manage to undo the buttons of Robbie’s shirt. He pushes the shirt off Robbie’s shoulders, pulling at the collar of his t-shirt until there’s enough skin exposed to suck a bruise into the junction of his neck and shoulder. Robbie’s breath hitches when James bites down. 

“Fuck,” James murmurs into Robbie’s skin. Robbie almost growls, pulling his t-shirt out of his jeans and then off and yes, _this_. 

James touches the tip of his tongue to Robbie’s nipple. Robbie lets out a yelp, grabbing at James’ shoulder. Sensitive. He swirls his tongue around, then sucks, and this time Robbie moans. It’s right up there with the most beautiful sounds James has ever heard. 

Then they’re both scrambling to get Robbie’s jeans undone and boxers off. Robbie’s cock is thick and beautiful and James can’t resist bending forward and tasting the drop of precome glistening at the tip.

“Christ,” Robbie gasps, so James does it again, closing his lips over the head and taking as much of Robbie into his mouth as he can, moaning as Robbie bucks up into him, grasping at James’ hair. 

Yes, yes. _Fuck yes_. He could do this all night. He would love to do this all night. James hollows his cheeks and sucks, humming in the back of his throat. The sounds Robbie is making above him; he wants more, more more more. He’s sure he’ll never get enough. 

But then Robbie is pushing him away. Gently, but away nonetheless, and James can’t help but whine at the lack of contact; the loss of the gorgeous weight of Robbie’s cock on his tongue. 

“Please,” he pleads. 

“All in good time.” There is a glint in Robbie’s eyes that says he’s got a plan and that James is going to like it. “Lie down again.”

If that’s what Robbie wants James can give it to him. James would give him anything he asked for, anything he didn’t ask for. James sinks onto the rug, naked and hard and barely resisting the urge to take hold of his cock and stroke. But he wants Robbie’s hands on him more than he wants to come right at this moment. 

Robbie is gorgeous in the firelight, more gorgeous even than usual, gazing at James like he is something precious. 

“Warm enough?” Robbie asks.

“Yeah,” James says, more breath than words. How could he not be warm with the fire and Robbie right there? 

Robbie smoothes a hand down James’ side, then up over his ribs, the ghost of a touch to his nipple, then down again across his stomach and almost, almost where James wants him most. Then he pulls back for a moment before doing it again. And again. Fingers dancing along James’ skin—tantalising, infuriating, intoxicating—sparks of pleasure coursing through him with every touch. Robbie leans in and traces the path of his fingers with his tongue and James bites his lip, stifling a moan, throwing his head back as he arches up off the rug.

“There’s no one for miles,” Robbie says, tracing his tongue along the edge of James’ collarbone, giving it a nip. “No need to be quiet.” He moves lower swirling his tongue around a nipple. “I want to hear you.” 

“Oh fuck,” James moans. “ _Robbie_.”

“That’s more like it,” Robbie purrs, his hands trailing down James’ sides again, over his hips. “You’re beautiful,” Robbie murmurs. “Do you have any idea?” James can only gasp and writhe beneath his touch as Robbie’s fingers trail down the crease of his thigh, so, so close to his cock.

“ _Please_ ,” James whines, spreading his legs, trying to nudge Robbie’s hand closer with his thigh. 

Robbie smirks down at him, it looks as if he’s going to pull away again, but then he bends forward and the tip of James’ cock is enveloped in wet heat so incredible all he can do is gasp and buck up into Robbie’s mouth. 

James twists his fingers in the fibres of the rug to keep from grasping Robbie’s hair and holding him in place, trying desperately not to thrust too deep into Robbie’s mouth. _Fuck_. Robbie knows what he’s doing. _And God that’s— Fucking hell_. Robbie pulls almost all the way off, swirls his tongue around the head, grips the base of James’ cock, and then takes almost all of him into his mouth. James can’t stop himself thrusting into the glorious heat, moaning as Robbie moans around his cock, and he can’t— He can’t—

“Oh fuck, _Robbie_. How—? Oh God. _Fuck. Please._ ”

And then Robbie is pulling off, his lips wet and glistening, leaving James gasping, hips stuttering toward where Robbie’s mouth was moments ago.

Robbie smiles up at him. “Tell me what you want,” he says, his voice a low purr. 

“That was— I want— Your hands— _Fuck_.” He wants everything, all of it, everywhere. Robbie on him and around him and in him but words have abandoned him. James moans and spreads his legs, tilts his hips up, pushing Robbie’s hand down. 

“Here?” Robbie slides a finger behind James’ balls, pressing against his perineum. 

“Fuck, _yes_.” James throws his head back and Robbie slides his finger further down, pressing against James’ hole. “ _Oh fuck, please._ ” That keening sound is coming from his own throat. 

“Like that?” Robbie asks, teasing, pressing in the tiniest bit.

“ _God_ , yes,” James moans. 

“Good,” Robbie says. “Stay there.” As if James wouldn’t do anything Robbie tells him to right now. Robbie crawls toward the loveseat and reaches for his holdall, giving James a fantastic view of his arse. He unzips a side pocket and pulls out a small bottle. “Shift up a bit,” he says when he’s back at James’ side. 

James scoots back on the rug until there’s space for Robbie to settle between his legs without lying on the stone floor. Robbie flicks open the bottle and slicks two fingers, smiling down at James with that cat-that-got-the-cream grin again. 

“Ready?” Robbie asks. James can only nod, feeling the heat of Robbie’s breath on his cock. 

Robbie wraps his hand around James’ cock, then his lips, not breaking eye contact, sliding one slick finger down behind his balls; gentle, tantalising pressure over his hole. Robbie’s lips are stretched around James’ cock and, _fucking hell_ , he’s never going to be able to look at Robbie’s mouth again without getting hard. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” James gasps. 

Robbie presses inside, slowly, humming around James cock as he does. _And, oh. That is good. So fucking good._ James spreads his knees wider, rocks his hips up into Robbie’s mouth and down onto his finger.

“Oh God. Just… _fuck_. More. Please.”

Robbie presses a second finger in, twisting his fingers just right, head bobbing over James’ cock in time with the motion of his fingers inside him, and James is nothing but a glorious mess of sensation, nerve endings sparking with pleasure everywhere Robbie is touching him, everywhere Robbie isn’t touching him. Everywhere. Waves of pleasure taking him almost to the edge with every twist of Robbie’s fingers, every swirl of his tongue, every moan vibrating around his cock, until he’s there, flying off the precipice, hips thrusting up into Robbie’s mouth. Robbie takes his other hand off James cock and presses it to his hip, holding him down and, 

“Oh, holy fuck. _Yes._ ” James is crying out, spilling down Robbie’s throat and he doesn’t pull off, he doesn’t move away, he sucks James through it, his touch gentling as every new sensation becomes almost overwhelming. Good fucking lord, he hasn’t come that hard in… possibly ever. 

Robbie crawls up the rug, lies down half on top of James and kisses him; sloppy, hot, and gorgeous, tasting of James’ own come. And Robbie is stroking himself with quick, sure movements, gasping James’ name, coming across James’ hip, before collapsing next to him on the rug.

James feels boneless, weightless, like his limbs are not quite his own, like he’s been elevated to a higher plane of existence, like he could stay right here on this rug in front of the woodstove and be perfectly happy for endless days. More than happy. Blissful. Transcendent. Who needs a bed, or to move, or anything but this? 

Lying on his back on the ridiculous sheepskin rug, basking in the warm glow of the fire, he feels new, tender, like a whole world has opened up before him, bright and sparkling like sunshine on snow. James blinks at the ceiling beams, shakes his head at his own post-coital ridiculousness, and revells in the warmth of the woodstove radiating heat on one side of him and Robbie stretched out on the other. He closes his eyes.

It could be hours before James tries to speak again, but it must only be minutes because when he opens his eyes the fire is burning as merrily as before and Robbie is still sprawled out next to him. 

“You…” James lets out a satisfied sigh. “I never would have…” the sentences trail off into nothingness. He has no idea how to finish it. He has no idea where to even start. 

Robbie seems to know what he’s getting at regardless. He leans up on his elbow and gazes down at James. “I was married, you know. Married people tend to have sex.” 

James nods, tilting his head to look up at him. “Right, of course, I just…” 

“I also had a life before I was married,” Robbie adds, with a cheeky grin.

“I—? Really?” James lets his head fall back to the rug. 

“Aye, lad. Is that so surprising?”

“Yes,” James says, incredulous. “But it’s also extremely hot.”

“Glad you think so highly of my skills.”

“Oh, I do.” James wriggles sideways so his hip is pressed to Robbie’s. “Let there be no doubt about that.”

“I do have a confession to make, though,” Robbie says, his tone gone serious.

Oh, shit. But he was very enthusiastic and he just said— James leans up on his elbow to get a proper look at the serious look on Robbie’s face. 

“It wasn’t the host’s misconception about why I rented the cottage. I told them we’d only be needing the one bed. ”

“Oh. You— _Oh_.” James flops onto the rug again in relief. 

Robbie bursts out laughing, which feels glorious against James’ naked skin. “The look on your face,” Robbie says, wiping at the corners of his eyes. “And you call yourself a detective.”

“Haha,” James shoots back, but he can’t keep from smiling. “You’re far more devious than I would have thought.”

“I have hidden depths.” Robbie shuffles closer, lying back down.

“The champagne, though,” James says, “and the rug.”

“It was a package deal.” Robbie slides his hand low over James’ stomach and makes a face when he encounters drying come. He stretches for the nearest piece of clothing—James’ t-shirt—and cleans James up before flinging the shirt somewhere in the direction of the bedroom. “You didn’t seem to mind the rug.”

“Hmph.” James snuggles up next to him, draping his arm over Robbie’s chest, running his fingers through his chest hair. “Why now?”

“Got tired of waiting, didn’t I?” Robbie says, as if the two of them lying here naked and sated was a foregone conclusion. And well, maybe it was. James had always kind of hoped it would be. “I didn’t mean for it to go quite like this, though. Thought we’d have some champagne, toast the new year a bit early and then I’d tell you. Had a whole speech in mind.”

“Really?”

“Aye.”

“I— No one’s ever done something like this for me before.” James sighs and presses a kiss to Robbie’s chest, revells in the warmth of him. “What if I hadn’t been amenable?”

“There was little doubt in my mind.” Robbie kisses the top of James’ head. “I do know the code for the cupboard, though, if you want that air mattress.”

“Absolutely not,” James says, as clearly and seriously as it’s possible for someone to be while lying naked on a sheepskin rug in front of a roaring fire. 

“That’s what I thought.” Robbie looks smugly satisfied. James can’t fault him for that.

“My turn next.” James trails his fingers down to Robbie’s spent cock, heavy against his thigh; gives it a gentle squeeze, feeling the tender weight of it. He wants to show Robbie, without a shadow of a doubt, how much he wants this. How amazed he is that Robbie has orchestrated all this, how grateful. They have time, though. Three and a half more days for a start, and many more after that if the look on Robbie’s face is anything to go by. “Shall we try out the bed?”

_____


End file.
